


Of Candle Glow and Mistletoe

by sequence_fairy



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: Rose wants a tree in the lounge, ‘cause after-all, it’s Christmas, Doctor.





	Of Candle Glow and Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [dwsecretsanta](http://dwsecretsanta.tumblr.com) the very first year I participated, which makes this fic nearly 4 years old.

“Doctor?” A muffled thump and a groan from under the console. “D’you think we could get a tree for the lounge?”

  
“A tree?” came the Doctor’s incredulous response from the bowels of the TARDIS, “what d’you want a tree in the lounge for?”

  
“Well,” Rose drawls, “you know, a Christmas tree. It’s almost Christmas, three days to go now, and I thought – “ Rose trails off as the Doctor emerges from under the console, a smear of grease on one cheek and goggles hanging around his neck.

“A Christmas tree? Didn’t we almost get murdered by one last year?” the Doctor asks, tugging the goggles off and making his hair skew out in all different directions. “How do you know what day it is anyway?”

“I’ve kept track,” Rose answers, and watches with a grin as the Doctor smears the grease from his cheek to his chin as he rubs a hand over his face. He does a quick calculation and finds that Rose is indeed correct. In her relative timeline, it is in fact three days before Christmas.

  
“Well, I suppose, that would be alright,” the Doctor answers, grimacing at his reflection in the view screen. Rose whoops and the Doctor grins at her, “I’m sure the TARDIS can whip up a nice one for us.”

  
Rose’s face falls. “I, well, I was hoping for a real tree,” she starts, and the Doctor nods.

  
“I’m sure she can make a real tree,” he answers, wiping grime off his hands with a rag and refitting the grating in place.

  
“I was thinking we could do the whole bit.” At the Doctor’s questioning look she presses on, “you know, go out to the woods, chop one down, bring it home, decorate it.” She moves to stand beside him at the console, and leans into his shoulder, lifting her face up to meet his gaze. She flutters her eyelashes at him, and the Doctor thinks she’s laying it on a bit thick, but really, he can’t say no to that face, which should be a bit of a concern, and now she’s looking at him like he’s daft, and what has she suggested, ah, yes.

  
“Alright.” He says finally, shoulders slumping, but the corners of his mouth turning up in the hint of a grin, “let me go and get cleaned up and we’ll go find the perfect tree for your Christmas on the TARDIS.”

***  
  
They land on the edge of a forest, the deep snow muffling all sound and the wind sending skirls of powder into the air. Rose bounds out of the TARDIS, wearing her heavy winter coat, long scarf wrapped around her face and neck and a bright red toque squashed down over her hair. The Doctor follows her out of the TARDIS, an axe over one shoulder. He strikes a pose and his companion laughs, the cold air making her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright.

“Well Lewis,” the Doctor says, “lead me to the perfect specimen.” 

“Righto Sarge!” Rose snaps a smart salute and takes off into the snow.  
  
Some hours later, Rose has finally narrowed it down to three choices. All three are full boughed, beautifully green and tall. The Doctor leans against the trunk of a nearby deciduous tree and waits for Rose to make her decision. He’s already learned that his opinion in this matter is not requested or appreciated, as he’s an alien from a planet that doesn’t celebrate Christmas so what does he know about choosing the perfect tree? Rose hems and haws and finally decides one of the three is a better option and declares her choice.

  
The Doctor hefts the axe and fells the tree with a skill he didn’t know he possessed. Their triumphant cry of “Timber!” echoes through the quiet woods as the tree comes to rest with a whumpf and a cloud of white.

***

  
Somehow, they manage to get the tree back to the TARDIS and into the lounge. There is a lot of swearing and needles that prick through mittens. The Doctor thinks he will never get the pine sap out of his coat, but Rose is flushed with the exertion and her toque is askew and she sticks her tongue out when she’s concentrating and the Doctor can’t stop looking at it, must stop staring. Together they heave the tree into place, and Rose fusses with the branches before there’s a smattering of pops behind them and they turn to find that the TARDIS has helpfully provided them with bins and bins of ornaments.

  
Rose takes charge of the lights, which had been stored in a hopeless tangle while the Doctor goes to settle them into the Vortex. He returns just as Rose is plugging the last of the strands together and his first sight of her is with fairy lights in all colours wrapped around her arms, looped around her neck and glowing against her skin. Tongue between her teeth, she starts looping them around the tree.

  
Rose soon calls him in from his post by the door to help as he is taller than her and can reach the topmost branches. They stand back to admire the fully lighted tree, the green needles the perfect backdrop to the multi-coloured lights. The Doctor grins and pulls out his sonic, flicking through a couple of settings before pointing it at the   
tree. It whirrs to life and Rose lets out a squeal of delight as the fairy lights start to twinkle.

  
“Doctor,” she says breathlessly, “that’s gorgeous!”

  
The Doctor snags her hand and draws her over to the stacked bins on the floor behind them. “How about some doodads and thingamabobs and baubles and oooh, tinsel?” He tosses a handful of strings of silver tinsel at Rose and she laughs and flings a handful back at him. They chase each other around the sofa, until they both flop, breathless into a tangle of limbs in front of it. Rose’s face is flushed again, cheeks pink and eyes twinkling with excitement.

The Doctor catches himself staring again, and Rose’s impish grin shows she caught him too. The silence draws out between them, caught in the other’s gaze, and the Doctor feels the tension between them ratchet up as Rose’s eyes warm with something darker than just excitement and the frisson of anticipation that runs down his spine makes him shiver.

  
Rose bumps his shoulder with her own, breaking the tension, before scrambling to her feet and standing before the tree, hands on her hips. The Doctor takes a moment to indulge himself in the view of her denim-clad behind, before getting to his feet and joining her. She quirks an eyebrow up at him. “Shall we?” she asks, gesturing behind her toward the bins of decorations.

Together, they deck the tree in all the TARDIS’ provided finery; beads and baubles and glass balls and sparkly snowflakes and finally, at the very last, the Doctor hands Rose the star. It glows in her hands, and she looks up at the top of the tree. The Doctor follows her gaze and without pausing to think, turns her to face the tree and lifts her around the waist so she can place the star on the topmost branch. He sets her down again and she turns in the circle of his arms.

  
For a moment, the world stops, and there is only Rose, face framed by the glow of the fairy lights, and bits of stray tinsel in her hair and the air filled with the scent of pine. “Merry Christmas Doctor,” she says softly, lips curving into that slow burn of a smile that leaves him weak in the knees.

  
“Merry Christmas Rose,” he replies, and lifts his head at the sound of jingling bells from somewhere above them. Hanging from the ceiling is a sprig of mistletoe, bells and holly. Rose follows his gaze and he watches as the blush spreads across her features. The Doctor clears his throat and takes a step back; not trying to push her into what he is sure is the TARDIS’ attempt to tip them over the point of no return.

  
Rose steps towards him and reaches a hand up to pick a piece of tinsel out of his hair.

  
“That’s mistletoe,” she says, voice low and warm and sending a spark of heat through his core.

  
“It is,” he confirms and watches as she licks her lips, and as she raises herself up on tiptoes to press her lips against his. She rocks back and he follows her down, tightening his grip on her waist as she molds her body to his.

  
She is warm, and tastes of the hot chocolate they’d shared after returning with the tree and peppermint from the candy canes she’d been sucking on since they’d started decorating. When they finally pull apart, she’s flushed again, and he thrills at the helpless sound she makes when he pulls away. She turns to face the tree again and he curls an arm around her waist and squeezes. Rose looks up at him and smiles, and closes her eyes for a moment. The pitch of the TARDIS’ hum changes and he hears the distinct sound of chiming laughter in the back of his mind.

_Happy Christmas to you too,_  he thinks at the timeship and the TARDIS hums in appreciation, dimming the lights in the lounge so that the twinkling tree is on full display


End file.
